Velvet Night
by WillieHewes
Summary: Night had drawn her soft black wings over the city. The darkness pooled in alleys, under trees and awnings, around corners that no smart man would turn alone. The air was warm and velvety it was high summer. On nights like these, Raziel could fly. [fin]
1. Default Chapter

VELVET NIGHT   
  
Night had drawn her soft black wings over the city; she tolerated with a superior smile the feeble streetlights and the dim glow from curtained windows. The darkness pooled in alleys, under trees and awnings, around corners that no smart man would turn alone. The air was warm and velvety; it was high summer. For these short hours of complete darkness, the city of Vennstein was his playground.   
  
He sat perched on top of a large wooden chest in front of the carpenter's, and looked down at the only mortals that were out at this time of night -- the citizen watch. Armed with shuttered lights and what weaponry their failing funds could afford them, they roamed the streets looking for their monsters. Demons. Leeches. Parasites.   
  
Vampires. Raziel smiled at them, benevolently. They were no threat to him. Their watchful eyes glided over him like the soft summer wind; they saw him, and yet they did not. He wore trousers and a sleeved vest of the softest fabric imaginable, tailored to cover his body completely without impairing his movements. A wide hood shielded his raven black hair and pale skin from view, and the entire vesture was done in shades of dark grey, the colour of the drab stone walls that surrounded him, the colour of the cobbled streets. The colour of night in Vennstein. It made him invisible.   
  
The watch's feeble attempts at catching him amused Raziel, and some nights, he would play a game with them. A game of barely heard sounds and barely seen shadows, of running and shouting, ghastly discoveries and death dropping silently down into dead alleyways. But not tonight, not while she awaited him. He allowed them to pass, and stepped out to vault onto the roof of the shop. His soft boots allowed him to land almost soundlessly, and he tiptoed over the edge of the roof to the far corner. At the other side of the street was the low end of the theatre hall. He crouched, planting his feet carefully, tensing his muscles. He looked ahead. The street was wide and the drop daunting, but he did not hesitate a moment. On nights like these, Raziel could fly.   
  
He sprung his powerful legs and sailed through the air for a moment, silent, still, graceful. He braced himself for the landing, and met the theatre's roof with just the right amount of tension in his limbs. _Thump._ A cat would have made more noise. Flying, he had decided, was all about landing, just as walking was all about putting your feet down the right way, such a way that even on a slick, tin roof they made no sound at all. He climbed the theatre roof, still warm from the day's heat, towards the more well-off part of town.   
  
Large houses with high, whitewashed façades faced the streets here, streets with lush little gardens and succulent trees in orderly rows. The back of the house he was after neighboured the side of the theatre hall. It had a high wall surrounding its grounds, too high to climb, but from here, one could simply drop down onto it, and from there take a leap to the low side building. The back garden of the house was in shadows, as was the wall. Raziel needed little light to see, however, and took an elegant little leap to land, perched, on top of the wall.   
  
An angry hiss escaped his lips, as a sharp pain blossomed in the palms of his hands and soles of his feet. Broken glass! How gauche. But no matter, he was almost here. In three well-aimed bounds he was on top of the mansion's roof. He checked his extremities in the starlight. His flesh healed up quickly and he brushed off the dried blood, but one of his boots was torn. He bared his fangs in annoyance. A sound in the street below snapped his attention back to his surroundings, and he crouched low, his senses set sharply as before. Slowly, soundlessly, he crept to the edge of the roof on the street side, and smiled at the sight that greeted him.   
  
A small group of late-night revellers swayed through the still, orderly street, urging each other to be quiet and failing quite miserably. And was that a dark shape following them? Perhaps it was... He shrugged, he would not let anything else distract him now, he was here. Right above her balcony. Lithely, he dropped himself down onto it, landing, once again, on soundless, velvet feet. The door to her balcony was partly open against the heat. _How considerate._   
  
He clicked the latch off, and pushed the door open, slowly. Yes, this was her, he knew as soon as he stepped inside the room. It was filled with a sweet, flowery perfume, and below that, on a more secret stratum of smell, the spicy scent of her sweat. A tingling sense of anticipation spread from his heart through his body as he approached the bed. Oh yes, this was her.   
  
In the hot summer night, she had struggled with her sheets until she lay uncovered from the waist up, on her back, her mouth slightly open. Her soft, silken skin was covered only by a thin, white shift, through which her dark nipples showed clearly. Her delicious arms were bare, and that alone was almost enough to make him succumb to the bloodlust then and there. But no, she was too precious to take hastily...   
  
Gently, as gently as he could, he sat down on the bed beside her. Her breathing was deep and steady, a rhythm like the breaking of waves that stirred his passion ever higher. Tenderly, he reached out and touched her brow, stroking her forehead and cheek with his cool, soft fingertips, tracing the shape of her delicate eyebrows. But it was her lips that broke his heart. A perfect cupid's bow, and a full, soft, slightly pouting lower lip. Pink and fresh as the morning dew. His face hovered over hers as his hand slid down to her breast, cupping the tender mound of flesh through the thin cotton of her shift, rolling the taut nipple under his thumb.   
  
She moaned sleepily, and shaped her lips around a half-pronounced word. "Shhh..." he whispered. "Go back to sleep." She turned her face towards him, and seemed to obey his command, for soon her breaths were deep and regular again. He sighed, the edge of his desire was whetted by every detail his senses reported, the slightly sweet scent of her breath, the gentle heaving of her chest, her blushing, velvety skin, those perfect, glistening wet lips. He kissed her, his cool, dry lips, darkened with his unnatural blood, pressed gently against hers. It set off a spark deep inside him, and his bloodlust roared in victory.   
  
"Yes," he breathed, yes, this was her, pure, fresh and undefiled, ripe for the plucking. His for the taking. It was time. He closed his hand over her mouth as he bit down. In this case, it was an unnecessary precaution, she only made the tiniest little sound when his fangs penetrated her flesh. Her skin parted willingly under his razor sharp teeth, and he began to suckle her neck, relishing the first taste of her blood as she began to stir. She sighed deeply, huskily, when he started to draw out the blood, making it fountain into his mouth, her body trembling against his. She yielded to him, his irresistible will, as he commanded her heart, the very centre of her being, to dance to its own deadly beat for him -- to feed him her life's blood.   
  
She moaned and shook as her life drained away, gushing into his gaping, sensuous mouth. He moaned too as he felt the flow slow to a trickle, and then her heart was beating idly, her blood drained. He shuddered with pleasure as her sweet blood coursed through his veins, rejuvenating him, restoring him, nurturing his very soul.   
  
He drew himself up and looked down, a broad, satisfied smile on his face. She looked pale now, deathly pale, and her dark hair fanned out on the pillow made a perfect contrast with her skin. A few drops of blood coloured the white sheet she lay on, and the stark combination of colour almost struck him dead. Her neck was a mess, two deep puncture wounds with the flesh rent open around them, half-clear liquid leaking from it. There would be no doubt what she died of, but he cared not. She had been meant for him. This was destiny. 


	2. 2

He slipped back out onto the balcony and stood looking down at the quiet street for a while, careless of danger. The warm wind carried the dark, brown aroma of the river, mixed in with the smoky scent from the streetlights and the faintest tang of blood. He smiled. He loved Vennstein. He loved the night, he loved the little mortals playing out their petty lives for his enjoyment. In the blink of an eye, he dropped down from the balcony into the street below.   
  
"You scoundrel!" a sharp voice behind him said. He got up from his crouch without haste.   
  
"Good evening, Zephon," he said in a controlled manner.   
  
"And a good evening to you, Raziel," Zephon said, peeling out of the doorway of the mansion. "Strange thing I should meet you here, at the house of the respected merchant Valent. Had some late business to discuss, perhaps?"   
  
"Perhaps." Raziel smiled, strolling down the middle of the street. Zephon followed him.   
  
"With his daughter?" he inquired, his voice shrill and sharp like a bird's cry.   
  
Raziel's smile widened further.   
  
"What are you playing at, Raziel? Valent and his family enjoy immunity, you know that!" Zephon walked beside him, his fangs bared in an annoyed snarl.   
  
"No one is immune to death," Raziel said dreamily. "They should have known that."   
  
Zephon stopped dead in the street. "You...!" he exclaimed, and shook his head in disbelief. "You wouldn't."   
  
Raziel turned around to face him, a superior smile on his face. His eyes spoke of a subtle threat.   
  
"If Kain hears it was you," Zephon started.   
  
" -- And from whom would the general gain that information, Zephon?" Raziel interrupted. He didn't wait to hear the answer.   
  
.   
  
With a sudden flash of movement, he lunged at his younger brother, closed one hand around his neck and flung him around to crash into a wall. Before Zephon could recover, he was there, pressed against him, one hand wrenching his head to the side, the other pinning his arm to the wall. He bit down hard. Zephon's flesh parted with a juicy crunch and blood spilled out onto Raziel's tongue. There was a struggle, will pitted against will as Raziel tried to command Zephon's blood out into his mouth. Zephon cried out, fighting a desperate struggle against Raziel's superior strength of mind. In the end, he succumbed as he knew he must. Blood gushed out of the wound, and Raziel drank greedily, as if his last meal was three nights away rather than three minutes. Zephon's blood was rich and slightly bitter, spiced with strong ale. Raziel groaned with pleasure, and remembered rather belatedly to let his brother go.   
  
Zephon nearly fell to his knees. He leant against the wall, weakened by the sudden blood loss. Raziel was still pressed against him; he caressed the healing wound on Zephon's neck, a wanton grin on his lips.   
  
"Seems like you enjoyed yourself too," he said, slurring his words slightly.   
  
Zephon sneered at him haughtily. "What's wrong, brother, can't handle your ale?"   
  
Raziel laughed softly, then leaned even closer to breathe in Zephon's ear, "You won't tell father, will you?"   
  
Zephon squirmed, futilely trying to break free from Raziel's grasp. "It doesn't matter if I don't," he said, coldly. "He will know. Who else would break his law so brazenly!"   
  
Raziel smiled warmly at him. "Hmm, you're right. He will find out eventually." He grinned broadly, displaying his fangs. "And he'll forgive me."   
  
"Whore!"   
  
Raziel pressed his lips against Zephon's mouth, gently, and Zephon could smell his own blood on Raziel's breath. Raziel grinned and pushed himself away from the wall, releasing his brother. "Well I'm glad that's settled. I rather think we --"   
  
He was cut off by a rough cry from the end of the street. "Who goes there?"   
  
The watch. They both stood and stared at the bright searchlight for a second, the acrid smell of the flammable oils on the wind. Time to go.   
  
Raziel snapped round to find Zephon was already running. Raziel fled down a different street, dashing through the familiar alleyways, leading his human hunters on a merry chase through the city.   
  
Zephon clambered up the city wall and ran along on top of it, hastily scrambling back down the tree they used to get into the city. He looked back now, just in time to see Raziel's dark outline appear against the night sky. Instead of running for the old oak however, he simply launched himself from the top of the wall. Zephon watched with perfect horror as he sailed through the air, his arms outspread, hovering over the dark water of the moat. He landed with an elegant roll on the grassy incline and ran on into the darkness without breaking his momentum.   
  
"God damn it, Raziel, are you trying to kill yourself?" Zephon called after him.   
  
Raziel turned and waited in the darkness under a tall tree. "What on earth gave you that impression?" he asked when Zephon caught up to him.   
  
Zephon swiped an angry hand at the city walls behind them. "You think you can fly," he hissed angrily, "but you're going to fall very hard one night, my dear brother!"   
  
Raziel chuckled, and looked up at the stars. "But not tonight..." he sang. Tonight, he was a God. 


	3. 3

Raziel hastily changed his clothes. Trust Zephon? No further than he could throw him, which was probably a considerable distance, to be honest, as Zephon was a scrawny little bastard made out of chicken bones. Still, it seemed safer to call on the general himself. Perhaps he would find him in a favourable mood, or if not, he might be able to improve his mood somewhat. He doffed his grey city-drab in favour of a more stately pair of black trousers and a soft woollen, sleeveless shirt of blood red. He pulled the cord that tied it at the front a little looser, to show just a little more chest. After a moment of deliberation, he strapped on a black double belt around it with an ornate buckle. It was Dumah's, but Dumah wouldn't mind, he decided. It looked better on him anyway. He snapped a polished, copper bracelet around his wrist and put on a pair of proper, heavy boots. He cast a glance into the narrow, damaged mirror on the wall, combing his hair with his fingers and gathering it up into a loose ponytail. There. Much better.   
  
He climbed the roughly hacked steps up to Kain's quarters and silently slipped through the door. Kain was stood at the wide, high window, looking out over the grounds surrounding the ruined keep he had claimed for himself. He did not turn, or acknowledge Raziel in any way, but he knew Raziel was there. Raziel carefully closed the door behind him, and perched in a narrow alcove that still held the remains of a stone angel. He waited patiently; there was no need to speak.   
  
The room was better furnished than the former chapel he and his brothers inhabited, but still sparse by human standards. A simple wooden table, a few oil lamps, a chair. The bed was pushed into a deep alcove, away from the window. They had hung heavy velvet curtains around it, to shield it from the light. Kain sighed.   
  
"Strange, how the mind plays tricks on you, is it not?"   
  
Raziel slipped from his seat and joined his general at the high, gothic window.   
  
"Looking out over these land, mine now, covered by the purple velvet of night... It makes me think of her."   
  
Raziel's breath caught, he felt suddenly wary. "Her?" he asked gently.   
  
"Umah," Kain said, a faint longing in his voice. Raziel breathed more easily. "I must have told you about her," Kain asked.   
  
"Yes, she was the one that betrayed you," Raziel remembered. It was rare to catch Kain in a nostalgic mood, but it was a better kind of mood than most. Kain sighed again.   
  
"Things could have been so different," he said, "if she'd only understood. If she could only have seen... You would have had a mother then." He glanced at Raziel, who raised his eyebrows and smiled, as if the suggestion was faintly ridiculous. "You would have liked her," Kain said with a broad, sensuous grin. "A lithe young woman. Fine little face. Ripe." He chucked, greedily. "Perhaps a little too ripe for your tastes," he added thoughtfully. He leaned on the balustrade and gazed off into the distance. The horizon was slowly starting to pale. "Not that it matters. I would never have shared her with you."   
  
There was a moment of silence before he added, "Or you with her, for that matter." He drew himself up again and turned to Raziel, who gave him a wanton smile. Kain smiled back, then grabbed him by the chin and turned his face to the light. His touch was gentle, but insistent. Raziel did not resist for a moment.   
  
"You look deceptively healthy tonight. What have you been eating?" He let go again, and turned his back, walking over to the table, and the pitcher of blood that was on it.   
  
"I've been hunting in Vennstein," Raziel answered truthfully. Kain took up the pitcher and poured himself a cup.   
  
"Vennstein, hm? Found something to your liking?"   
  
Raziel laughed guiltily. "Oh yes," he said, avoiding Kain's eyes like a shy virgin.   
  
The hint was not lost on Kain. He took a sip, frowning. "Who?" he asked, sharply.   
  
"Valent's daughter," Raziel admitted with a guilty smile.   
  
"Valent?" Kain repeated, his anger suppressed but palpable. "Not Valent, the fabric merchant? Not Valent, one of the richest men in Vennstein? Member of the council of patriarchs, not that Valent?"   
  
"Ah, yes, that one," Raziel breathed. He dodged just in time to avoid the metal cup thrown at his head. The blood in it splashed against the wall in a crimson streak.   
  
"Damn you, Raziel!" Kain thundered. "If I can not guarantee the safety of the elite, Vennstein will turn against me! Our alliance is crucial at this stage, I thought I had made that clear! You..." He suddenly halted his tirade; something had struck him. "She was pretty, wasn't she?" he asked with a disgusted snarl.   
  
"Oh, so beautiful, father, it was painful to look on her," Raziel gushed. "I saw her a few nights ago, in the marketplace, and my heart bled. She had long hair, black as the blessed night itself, eyes like dark, glistening jewels, and her blushing lips... So sweet... I couldn't resist. I had to have her!"   
  
"You should have been a poet, Raziel," Kain said coldly, slowly approaching his eldest son. "But this is no game we're playing, this is a war. A war I intend to win, either with or without you. You know my word is law. Don't assume you're exempt from the rules simply because you're my firstborn."   
  
Raziel grinned cheekily, and inclined his head, tracing a finger down his neckline. "No," he said in a husky voice, "there's very different reasons for that, aren't there?"   
  
Kain flashed a greedy, fanged grin. "Ah," he chuckled. "My handsome Raziel..." Suddenly, he smacked him across the face. Four bright, crimson lines of pain opened up on Raziel's cheek. "Don't play with me," Kain raged. "I've been betrayed too many times, if I cannot rely on you, Raziel, if I cannot trust you completely..."   
  
"You can trust me," Raziel cried, cradling his wounded cheek. Kain grabbed hold of his hair and pulled his head back, far back, straining his neck and exposing his throat completely. Raziel groaned slightly, fighting his instinctive urge to resist.   
  
"I should kill you now," Kain mused. "For your transgression. I could drain your blood and toss you into the river." His voice bespoke a dark amusement, and Raziel trembled with anticipation, and more than a little fear. "It would do very well to set an example, I think. To make clear to the troops that my will is their law. That to disobey my order is to forfeit your life..."   
  
Raziel tried to swallow. His hands fluttered in the air, as Kain pulled his head ever further back.   
  
"I think your brethren would take very well to that lesson, don't you?"   
  
Raziel moaned softly. Kain brushed his lips over his exposed throat.   
  
"Yes, I could tear out your throat right now..." he whispered, his cool lips brushing against Raziel's skin. "Or would you prefer this?"   
  
The Soul Reaver. Raziel's eyes went wide in fear when Kain pulled the ancient sword forth and held the edge of its blade a thumb from Raziel's face. It took all his strength of mind not to resist, not to bring his hands up and struggle with his sire. It all came down to trust, but was this still a game? Could Kain be serious?   
  
"Please, no," he whispered, staring at the waved blade in front of him. It seemed enveloped in a blue glow, and Raziel had seen enough to know that it would devour his soul if Kain allowed it to. "Don't kill me," he begged, "I'm your son! Please, my lord..."   
  
Kain lowered the blade. "Lord," he repeated, and pressed his lips against the sharp line of Raziel's jaw. "Yes, that's right..."   
  
Raziel closed his eyes. His fear stirred his passion even higher, and he hissed to feel Kain's fangs against his throat.   
  
Kain growled, a rumbling sound from deep within his throat, and pushed Raziel away with such force that he crashed into the wall next to the bed. He struggled to regain his feet, untangling himself from the chair with a pained grin. Kain had turned away from him, to the window.   
  
"Oh, Raziel," Kain sighed. He brought a hand to his face. "How could I? Your sweet blood, the way you yield to me... How can I resist?" He set his sword onto his back once more, and Raziel caught himself breathing a little sigh of relief. Kain turned to him, a weary look in his eyes. "You make me weak," he accused.   
  
Raziel smiled sweetly, and shook his head. "None could make you weak, my lord," he said, approaching carefully. "Certainly not I; I am your servant." Kain put a hand on his chest, as if to stop him from coming closer, but he gave way as Raziel leant in for a kiss. Their lips met, briefly, then Kain grinned and suddenly grabbed hold of Raziel's shirt, tossing him onto the bed. Raziel disappeared between the black curtains, and there was a grunt as he landed against a rough stone wall, cushioned only by a layer of black velvet. Kain followed him, slipping into the darkness like a predator stalking his prey.   
  
Raziel stripped off his shirt and stretched out luxuriously among the pillows and blankets. In the pitch-black of the curtained bed, they could only see the dull gleam of each other's eyes, but it was all they needed. Kain's eager claws found the exposed skin of Raziel's chest, and scratched over the powerful plains of his muscles.   
  
"You can see me ruling Nosgoth, can't you, Raziel?" he asked.   
  
"Yes," Raziel answered, and drew in his breath sharply when his sire's claws drew blood. "I can see it. All will fear you, Kain, and all will bow to you. Knights, patriarchs, kings..."   
  
The soft gleam of Kain's eyes blinked our of existence for a moment as he laughed softly.   
  
"I can see you on a throne, built out of the skulls of your fallen enemies, and king Oswald on his knees before you, trembling, begging for mercy..." His whisper had a haunting quality, seemingly coming from the darkness itself. "They will whisper your name in fear: 'Lord Kain', 'Lord Kain'. All the world will be at your feet, and I will be there at your side, as your right hand, forever..."   
  
A sharp canine caught the light. "I'll drink to that..." Kain's deep voice rumbled, and he leaned over Raziel, his presence palpable and strong, yet somehow featherlight. In the darkness, his lips searched Raziel's throat for a moment, looking for that magic spot where the skin throbbed with the rhythm of his heart. He waited. Raziel raked his hand through Kain's soft, white hair, his frame tight with anticipation and desire. A small, keening noise escaped his lips. He whispered,   
  
"Please..."   
  
It was what Kain had been waiting for. He plunged his fangs into the subdermal river of blood and Raziel cried out, with pain, and shock, and joy. He did not try to resist, there was no need. He surrendered easily and completely to Kain's will. Kain drew it out gently, slowly drinking his full, the blood in Raziel's veins under his total command, and his very heart... Raziel closed his eyes. This was bliss, this pain, the rapture of this moment with Kain in this private darkness... He felt his life seeping away, flowing into his sire. To feed him, to strengthen him, to bring him life, it was pure pleasure. His fingers twitched as the strength fled from his limbs and he almost welcomed the bright burn of the hunger, warming him, stirring him into action.   
  
He grabbed a handful of long soft hair and wrenched Kain's greedy mouth away from his neck. Kain slurped up a final draft, and relinquished his hold on his son's lifeblood. Raziel let him drop back. He licked the wound, allowing it to close, and Raziel sighed deeply. He was far from drained, just on the edge of comfortable, actually, and he lazily combed Kain's silken hair back with his fingers.   
  
"You're a veritable feast, as always," Kain mumbled approvingly. He sat up, and put a possessive hand around Raziel's throat, a little too tight for comfort. "What am I to do with you, Raziel?" his voice rumbled in the darkness.   
  
"Do?" Raziel asked. "What you just did suited me fine, actually." It was too dark to see his impish little smile, but it slipped into his voice like a secret creature of the night.   
  
"Know that I will not hesitate to kill you, Raziel, if it becomes necessary," Kain said sternly. "If you stand in my way, or betray my trust, or become a threat to my ambition..." His hand twitched a little tighter still. "I will skewer you on the Soul Reaver and not think twice about it."   
  
Raziel felt a shiver run through him at the thought. He could imagine it so precisely, the waved blade penetrating his body, running him through, lifting him slightly, and the look on Kain's face, enraged, demonic. _I renounce you._ He shrugged off the dreadful fantasy with some difficulty.   
  
"I have never doubted that, Kain," he whispered softly. "And I will take great pains to avoid giving you reason to." Kain's hand left his throat. Raziel's heart halted for a second when there was a click, and the almost imperceptible glow of the Reaver cut through the velveteen darkness like a slow and silent flash of lightning. But Kain merely put it down on the mattress beside him, and leaned back on the pillows and blankets. Raziel sat by his side.   
  
"Your ambition is my ambition," he continued, reassured. "I only seek to serve you, and share in your glorious victories."   
  
"Good boy." Kain reached out with a lazy hand and stroked his face. "And do you also wish to spend the day here?"   
  
"Yes," Raziel breathed, and lay down close, resting his head on Kain's chest. He could hear the dark, powerful rhythm of his heart, so loud it seemed to make Kain's entire body throb. Nonetheless, it was the most relaxing rhythm he knew. He closed his eyes; the morning had already broken. He was grateful that he could spend the day here -- in spite of Kain's rough treatment and his endless threats, there was nowhere in the world he felt safer than in his sire's arms.

* * *

Author's notes:  
Oh, golly, aren't I clever? I disgust myself sometimes. I renounce you indeed. Anyway, hope you enjoyed that, I sure enjoyed writing it. :)  
  
O.O Did I actually allow Umah into my universe though? Am I accepting Blood Omen 2 into the storyline? Somebody STOP me!  
  
Schuldig, thank you very much for your help in improving this, I hope it was everything you desired. If you have any other remarks, please let me know.  
  
Soul of Ashes, a drunken whore, yes, a bit too much of one, so I decided to tone it down. Hope you approve.  
  
Varyssa, you think Raz is getting a bit cocky? _gasp_ No! _ahem_ You don't like Zephon though? I love Zephon! If I wasn't such a Raziel junkie I'd write about him much more! Though he deserves to get his ass kicked. Without a doubt.  
  
All: thanks for reviewing!  
  
Added: More reviewer Responses:  
  
Smoke: this is set in the history as it is after Defiance. You see, even though the Hylden Lord has returned, and was defeated again, Kain still needs to raise his sons and rule for a thousand years and toss Raz into the Abyss and all that. Blood Omen 2 is set both after Soul Reaver and before. For the Hylden Lord to return, Raziel must exist. For Raziel to exist, the empire must exist, and in that empire, Kain has already dealt with the Hylden Lord, and with Umah. Get it now? I love paradoxes.  
  
Varyssa: that was the last of it, sorry!  
  
Ekobean: Yaoi out of place in the Legacy of Kain universe? Dude, what else are we going to do? There are exactly TWO female characters of any importance! Yaoi is pretty much obligatory. 


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